


at the gates they’ll tell me (that you’re mine)

by stilinskitrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bellarke, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 01, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 16:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13861344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: “I just freaked.” He explained quickly, still keeping a distance. “To be honest, I didn’t think I’d ever even get a...a-a-”“Yeah.” She butt in, understanding the struggle of coming to terms with the idea of a soulmate out loud. “I get it. But I promise, I’m not that scary.”“Says the black hole of a human being that I’m looking at right now.” He laughed lightly, and it made Clarke smile just the slightest. God, she thought, he can’t even see me smile.





	at the gates they’ll tell me (that you’re mine)

**Author's Note:**

> I spent like over a week working on this to the point where I was SICK of it so please take it off my hands  
> title from the lovely lana del rey

The first night she dreamt of him was her first night in juvenile lockup.

  
Her soulmate, that is. At least she thought it was him. (And she was pretty sure her soulmate was a guy. She’d never ruled them out as being a woman.)

  
The dream itself was short; bookended by Clarke’s conscious actions of retching in the corner of her cell and being unable to control her tears. Only hours ago she’d watched her father be floated. _Your fault, your fault, your fault_. The moment replayed in her head like a broken tape, the ghost of her mother's arms around her making her feel colder in the reality of their absence now. When she'd finally drifted into sleep, everything had felt almost hyper real.

  
Clarke had dreamt of forests before. Thick, sprawling Oaks and Maples, towering Firs and rich, full Pines. Hues of green painted everywhere and sunlight leaking through the gaps in the canopy. But this time it was as if all her sense were in overdrive. She was entirely aware it was a dream, despite the feeling that the soil beneath her bare feet was actually there, and that the sound of forest animals buzzed around her louder than it should, as if she could hear every cricket and every squirrel.

  
And there _he_ was.

  
Except he wasn't. Physically, there was the shape of a figure there, except the space he occupied was a black blur, obscuring his features from her. She was left with an outline; his height, his physicality, and his voice. It was scary, almost sinister. Before Clarke could even fathom reaching out and making contact, he disappeared. She felt a sudden sense of lurching, like a rope around her body was pulling her back. Seconds later, she woke up, back in the sky box.

  
The next night, she went to sleep and wondered if he’d reappear.

  
When she entered the forest again, everything felt familiar. She didn’t spend time exploring; she didn’t need to. It was as if she knew the paths of the woodland as well as the veins on the back of her hands. Again, her soulmate seemed to appear in front of her, like she was a magnet in the centre of the forest. This time, he didn’t run away. He stood quite still, keeping his distance like they were having a standoff.

  
“I-I’m sorry.” Gruff. A deep vocal tone. Masculine and awkward.

  
She frowned - but she supposed he couldn’t see that. “Why?”

  
“For...running away. Last night.”

  
So _that’s_ why she’d been pulled out of the dream so violently and abruptly. He must’ve forced himself to wake up.

  
Clarke shrugged, “It’s not like I had a much better idea of what to do.”

  
“I just freaked.” He explained quickly, still keeping a distance. “To be honest, I didn’t think I’d ever even get a...a-a-”

  
“Yeah.” She butt in, understanding the struggle of coming to terms with the idea of a _soulmate_ out loud. “I get it. But I promise, I’m not that scary.”

  
“Says the black hole of a human being that I’m looking at right now.” He laughed lightly, and it made Clarke smile just the slightest. _God_ , she thought, _he can’t even see me smile_.

  
The way it worked, was that a soulmate would come to you in your dreams, faceless and blank, until the day you met in real life. After that, they would become clear to you, and the dream bond would remain. Obviously, there were exceptions; unrequited love, falling out of love, having several or multiple soulmates at once. If your soulmate died, there was a 50/50 chance of finding a new one. A lot of people didn’t.

  
At first it was awkward coming to terms with the fact that they were talking to their alleged soulmates. He came to her in dreams almost every night, but not always for very long. At first, the awkwardness was only tolerable for what seemed like fifteen or thirty minutes. Slowly but surely, they grew out of that, until it caused her an ache for them to part and return to reality. For some reason they were always in a forest, and it was always day time. She’d always thought the destination would mean something, or be symbolic, but Clarke wasn’t really sure of the forests significance. It made for a nice backdrop, though.

  
In her cell in the sky box, Clarke only really had him and her mother’s occasional, strict and monitored visits for company. So, she learned about him. Her soulmate worked on the Ark, was older than her, loved going on about ancient history (which she secretly enjoyed), and was annoyingly more and more sarcastic and cockier by the day (which she secretly loved). And he hid things from her.

  
That last one wasn't something he'd ever out rightly told her, but she’d picked it up in his nonchalant way of changing conversations, or hesitating and hedging, when he was reluctant to answer something. Particularly questions about his family. Only his mother was ever mentioned in passing. He didn’t exactly _lie_ , but he avoided the truth. But she didn't push him. It wasn’t like she was ready to divulge information about her father yet, so to bring this up would make her look like a hypocrite.

  
He also never asked her name; she never asked his. Their dreams were a time where they could be someone else; they could pretend to just be two people, in a forest, discussing their thoughts and their dreams. Two strangers, who just happened to be destined to be together. She wasn’t _Clarke_ and he wasn’t...well, she didn’t know.

  
“I need _something_ to refer to you as,” she complained one day, as they roamed the forest, side by side. He was at least five inches taller than her, but Clarke quite liked it. “I can’t just keep calling you “He” or “you” or “soulmate.””

  
He hummed, nodding his head absently.

  
“It’s not...it’s not _proper_. It’s rude. You don’t have to tell me your real name. Just something.”

  
Clarke didn’t exactly know how she knew, but she could feel him smiling.

  
“Proper?” he scoffed. “Okay, I’ve got a name.” He chuckled, kicking a stone that was in their path.

  
She smiled hopefully, “Yeah?”

  
“But not for me.”

  
Clarke’s face fell into a frown. “That’s not how this works-”

  
“Princess.” He declared triumphantly. “That’s you, if you hadn’t figured.”

  
“ _Princess?_ ” She said incredulously.

  
Her soulmate only laughed more at her outrage, until he noticed that she’d stopped walking beside him. “Fine, fine. You can call me Bell.” He sighed, as if he’d given in to a tremendous defeat, and being over dramatic.

  
Clarke picked back up her pace, “Bell? That’s... nice. Nicer than _Princess_. Is it short for something?”

  
He hummed again noncommittally. She supposed that was all she’d get out of him, but she liked it. She would’ve used the expression “putting a face to a name”, or something like that, if she’d had a face to look at.

  
For every week in the year that Clarke spent in isolation, Bell came to her in dreams at least five times. She tried to not let it become the highlight of her days, or the disappointment that set her in a mood with the guards when he wasn't there. But between the routine guard checks and hours sitting in silence, there wasn’t anything else to look forward to.

  
She’d elaborated loosely of her own situation, telling him she was in juvenile lockup, but not telling him why. That would be a sure fire way to give away who she was, and Clarke certainly didn’t think she was ready for him to know that yet. Not like he was ready to tell her, either; he defensively argued that she probably wouldn’t even recognize his name if he were to tell her.

  
Soulmates only appeared in each other's dreams upon sleeping at the same time, and he'd alleged that his job was a late night one. This meant shortened dream time with him. She could tell he felt bad about this just from his vocal tone, and that he felt some guilt because he knew that he was the only real source of communication she had. He could only give her so much, and Clarke appreciated that.

  
They also never talked romantically - or sexually - over the year he came to her in dreams. They never needed to. Their intimacy was non-physical, which was mainly down to not being able to see one another. Clarke found intimacy with him in new ways, like listening to him recount mythical stories to her, him letting her cry when some nights felt so heavy on her heart, or his breathy laugh when Clarke amused him. Of course, she’d imagined being able to reach out and touch him. And of _course_ she felt an attraction to him growing, or perhaps, an attraction to his personality.

  
Her existence was a cyclical routine for so many months: dream with Bell, wake up, eat lukewarm porridge, sulk/draw/cry, eat more cardboard food, sleep, dream with soulmate. Eventually, meeting him in her dreams seemed to make it bearable, even if it was for only that short time.

  
One day, the idea of never meeting Bell was lingering on her mind in a way that seemed to make her itch. They’d been in constant communication for months. He was the closest person to her in her life at that moment and he was still a stranger. She didn’t want to be a part of another tragic soulmate story, another tale of star crossed lovers who never even got the chance to see if they could make something work. Clarke would be sent to trial, and possibly floated, as soon as she turned 18. What if she never got a chance to meet him? How did he think this would eventually go? If Clarke got out of lockup and _wasn’t_ sentenced to death, would they finally meet?

  
“I think, if I got floated, I wouldn’t regret not telling you my real name.” She confessed one night, eight months after he’d appeared to her, as she picked at the dream Daisy’s below her feet where they both sat cross legged on the forest floor. “That way, you’d...you’d be able to carry on your life, and perhaps think that maybe you never really knew me. Like, you wouldn’t have that attachment.” It was an upsetting thought, but she was just trying to be realistic.

  
Bell was silent for a long moment. Had he even heard her? “Don’t say that.”

  
“Say what?”

  
“That you’ll get…”

  
“Floated? But I might.” She ripped up some more grass, getting aggravated.

  
More silence. It felt like she’d hit a nerve.

  
“Hey-”

  
“My mother got floated.”

  
It was the first proper bit of information about his family that he’d ever disclosed to her. Bell had spoken very briefly about his mom, in words that suggested admiration and love. The old Earth stories, myths and legends he knew and found comfort in came from her. _Never_ had he insinuated that she was no longer among the living. But perhaps Clarke shouldn’t have assumed.

  
She cleared her throat. Suddenly the fact that she couldn’t truly see him felt like a bigger barrier than before. Clarke couldn’t react like a normal person; she couldn’t really reach out to him in any way other than with her words. They’d never tried physically touching each other. “I’m so sorry.”

  
“I hate that. I hate people apologizing, as if it’s their fault and their words can make me feel better. The only person I ever want to hear any sort of apology from is the murderer who floated my mother.”

  
Clarke dipped her head. “My dad was floated too.” It came out as almost a whisper. It had been _eight months_ , and still Clarke dreamed of his death when she wasn’t being visited by her soulmate. “I-I get it. Obviously not your personal strife, but…” she trailed off, not knowing exactly where she was going.

  
He didn’t say anything, but they’d fallen into an understanding silence. Slowly, he pushed himself off the ground and made his way to sit beside her, closer to her. A hesitant arm wrapped its way around her shoulders, and Clarke’s body almost convulsed. It was the strangest of feelings, like a shiver running throughout her whole body, electrifying her. It was exhilarating. Bell must’ve felt it too because she felt him jump away, but his arm stayed resolutely where it was. Clarke looped her arms around his waist, feeling that same sensation again upon further connection.

“And don’t be an idiot, Princess. I think it’s too late not to get attached.”

She suppressed a smile in the crook of his neck. Then they sat like that - in companionable silence - until one of them woke up, and the dream was gone. The lingering sense of his arms around her remained.

  
Clarke’s body felt like it was buzzing all day with the memory of touching him. Could she even call it a memory if it happened in a dream? She didn’t even antagonize the guards when they came around, and felt even more inspired to create art than usual.

  
Their dream meetings were different from there on in. Every dream they’d find some excuse, or some way, to connect. Clarke’s hand lingered on his shoulder; his fingers brushed against hers purposefully, she even dared to hug him a few times. They’d taken a step further into intimacy, and Clarke wondered if this was what all soulmates did. From what her parents had told her about their experience, they’d had it easy. Abby had always brushed it off as a “normal” soulmate experience, as if there were a normal way to meet your soulmate. But Jake, her father, romanticized it whenever Clarke brought it up. He’d made it out to be a love story for the ages, but it was nothing like what Clarke was experiencing. Abby and Jake had lived in the same station, worked close by each other, and grown as friends before even realizing they were soulmates. Clarke didn’t even really know who hers _was_.

  
It was late one evening, verging on morning hours, and Clarke was still awake. She was waiting until she was almost certain that he’d be asleep too. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but tonight was different. Tonight she was full of the adrenaline that she’d worked herself up to throughout the day to tell him exactly who she was, and the hope that he’d do the same.

  
Except, when she arrived in the forest and happily discovered that Bell was already there, she picked up the feeling that something was wrong. He didn’t acknowledge her as soon as she arrived, even though Clarke knew he would have felt her presence. She approached him was caution, and as the moved closer came to make out his figure sat on a log with his head in his hands.

  
“Hey,” she announced herself softly, taking a place beside him. “Everything okay?

  
He coughed, as if clearing his throat, “Yeah, yeah, fine. Fine.” His voice had a protective gruffness about it, and Clarke could practically feel his walls going up.

  
“No, hey, please,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the fizzle of energy that coursed through her when she did so. _Not the right time_. “Don’t shut me out.”

  
Bell considered her for a moment, before she felt his hand on top of hers, clutching it.

  
“It’s-it’s just been a hard day. I should be used to being alone now, but-but...I miss her.” He confessed, facing away from her. She wouldn’t have been able to read him even if he was looking her way, and it frustrated her.

  
“Your mom?” She whispered gently.

  
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. My mom. And…” he let himself trail off.

 _And?_ What did he mean? Or who? Clarke tried to read between the lines, knowing that pushing him would either make him shut down again, or would verge on being invasive. Was there another woman in his life? She’d never really considered it before; that Bell could have a girlfriend. It wasn’t uncommon for soulmates to date other people, if one or both of them never really felt the connection. The thought of it scared her. He was all she had.

  
“I miss my dad a lot, too.” She shook the creeping thoughts of jealousy from her head. “And my mom, even though she visits me very occasionally. It’s not the same though, with the guards there watching our every interaction. I can never speak freely or openly there, not like I can with you.”

  
Bell let out a small laugh. “Back at you, Princess. I won’t pretend I don’t have friends, but like you said, it’s not the same. Not the same as when I’m here.”

  
Clarke could feel the tension in the air growing thick and heavy.

  
But she understood. The closest Clarke had ever had to a best friend was Wells, and now that was beyond fucked. They’d been close since they were just kids, almost inseparable. She could barely stand to think about him now, or what he’d done to her - to her _father_ \- without wanting to scream in anger. Wells was no longer someone she could turn to.

  
Bellamy barreled on, “I can be myself here. I’m not defined by-by my job, or my mistakes, or my family. God, my _family_.”

  
_Was he crying?_ His posture was slumped, and she could hear him sniffling. Clarke’s chest felt pained, and she desperately wished there was something she could do to make it better. But she knew the ache he was feeling, because she felt it every night for her father. It wasn’t instantly curable. Carefully, Clarke shuffled over to wrap her arms around him in a hug, and she felt him crumble into her embrace easily.

_  
“Soulmates have a special connection,” she could hear her mother’s voice say, “like empathy, on a scale much bigger than the empathy you may feel for a friend. It’s special. But it also hurts.”_

_  
“Why would I want something that hurts?” Frowned an eleven year old Clarke. She still didn’t really grasp the concept of a soulmate. “I don’t wanna hurt.”_

_  
“It doesn’t hurt like a cut or a bruise.” Abby smiled. “It hurts because you care, because you love them. You want to help them. You don’t mind.”_

_  
Clarke shook her head, “That sounds silly.”_

_  
Abby laughed, holding her small daughter close to her. “Me and your dad have a special connection. And we’re okay, aren’t we?”_

_  
She grinned, wriggling as Abby’s fingers tickled her. “Yeaaaaah. You and dad loooove each other.” She sang. “It’s gross!”_

  
Clarke sniffed, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. Ah, to be so young and naïve. Bell didn’t say anything; they were both a mess, really. Broken and lonely. He really was a guiding light to her, in ways she’d never experienced before. Everything was so easy with him. If it was possible to fall asleep within her dreams, she could’ve fallen asleep in his company any day. But all things had to end, and she woke to the reality of her cold, dull cell. In the moments where she was with him, she wasn’t stranded in space, she was free.

  
She’d been sketching on the floor of the cell, when the door had been flung open with a force and determination unlike she’d seen before. The abruptness made her stumble back in shock, ruining the drawing. It had been of the Earth; the earth from her dreams. Her and Bell’s Earth.

  
“Prisoner 319, face the wall.” Commanded an unemotional voice, as the two guards stormed into the cell.

  
Clarke’s sense went into panic. “What is this?” She demanded, backing away instinctively.

  
The guards ignored her. “Quiet. Hold out you right arm.” The second guard to come in was carrying a hard, metal briefcase, which he proceeded to open, revealing several thick, metal wristbands.

  
“No, no, it’s not my time!” She cried, “I don’t turn 18 for another month!” It was a desperate plea, her worst thoughts telling her that _this was the end_. She was going to die.

  
“Hold out your arm.” The guard demanded once more, this time brandishing his taser. The hum of the electrified rod set the hair on her skin on end.

  
“Just check my file!” _They weren’t listening._ Instead, they moved to detain her, one of them indicating to her wrist.

  
“Your watch. Take it off.”

  
Her father's watch. Clarke _couldn’t_ ; she couldn’t part with it. It was all she had left of him. “No!” The guards moved in, but Clarke wrestled around them, moving quicker and taking advantage of her shorter height. They were slow, and Clarke managed to grab hold of one of their tasers to use it against them. It give her a head start, and she stumbled out of the cell door, only to fall upon tens of similar scenarios. Every kid from every cell in the sky box was being moved out, escorted elsewhere flanked by armed guards.

  
“Prisoner 319!” Behind her the guards had regained balance and seemed even more pissed than before. She was about to make a last ditch run for it, not knowing really what her aim was, when a welcoming and familiar voice called out her name.

  
“Mom?” Just hearing her mom's voice broke her sense of fight, and her breathing became wracked with sobs. Once she was embraced in her mother’s hug, the thought of letting go was too painful. “They’re killing us aren’t they? Reducing population to make more time for the rest of you.” She choked out, tears spilling onto her mother's t-shirt.

  
Abby pulled away, pain in her eyes. “Clarke, you are not being executed.” She said resolutely. “You’re being sent to the ground. All one hundred of you.”

  
The words didn’t seem real. How could that be possible? The Earth needed another hundred years - four more space bound generations - before it was safe. How could her mother say she wasn’t being executed when they were sending her down to a radiation soaked hellscape?

  
“No, no,” she muttered, “we get reviewed at eighteen.” Her head was spinning, and she gripped on harder to her mom.

  
“The rules have changed. This gives you a chance to live. Your instincts will tell you to take care of everybody else first, just like your father, but be careful. I can’t lose you too. I love you so much.” Her mother’s words were hurried and Clarke was still struggling to comprehend the thought of being sent to Earth, as her two hands cupped her daughter’s face.

  
Before she could even get out another word, a sharp and piercing pain blossomed in her neck, and the world seemed to go fuzzy. She reached for her neck, and felt a hard, metal needle of sorts. Her mother’s words were the last she heard before she drifted into unconsciousness.

  
“ _Earth, Clarke. You get to go to Earth_.”

  
Bell didn’t come to her in her sleep. Clarke entered and left the darkness alone. If she had, by some miracle, seen him, what would she have even said? Where would she begin? _Hey, I’m going to die. I’ll probably never see get the chance to see you now. Have a nice life?_ When she was brought back to reality, her body shaking as the seat she was strapped in rattled, her eyes winced at the light. The pain in her neck was gone, but something constricted her wrist in a way that made it ache. That damn wristband the guards had tried to force upon her was clamped around tight to her skin.

  
“Welcome back.”

  
Clarke could’ve jumped out of her skin. Wells Jaha sat buckled in next to her, smiling in a way that made Clarke want to smack the look off his face.

  
“Wells, what the fuck are you doing _here_?” He was a model citizen, with or without conveniently being the Chancellor’s son. A good reason for him to be among the juvenile delinquents escaped her as she stared half gawking and half furious at her childhood best friend.

  
“When I found out they were sending prisoners to the ground I got myself arrested,” he admitted, “I came for _you_.”

  
_How kind_ , she would’ve spat, but another wave of rattling and a series of screams from other prisoners distracted Clarke to more important things, such as the possibility of crashing or exploding.

  
“What was that?” She asked, panicked.

  
“That was the atmosphere.” Wells said with relative ease and calm, as if he knew _so_ much about hundred year old spaceships. Before she could snap back a retort, the TV’s situated around the dropship blinked into life, and the Chancellor’s face lit up the screen.

  
_“Prisoners of the Ark, hear me now. You've been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for us all. Indeed, for mankind itself. We have no idea what is waiting for you down there, if the odds of survival were better we would have sent others. Frankly, we’re sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”_

  
Some of the other kids jeered, groaning and shouting at the man they saw as their oppressor. “Your dad’s a dick, Wells!” one sneered from behind them. Clarke couldn’t exactly argue. He was the man responsible for the death of many of their family members.

  
_“If, however, you do survive, those crimes will be forgiven. Your records wiped clean. The dropsite has been chosen carefully, before the last war Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain.”_

  
The ship rattled aggressively, causing them to flinch. The TV screen flickered and crackled, distorting the audio. Clarke was struggling to hear it anyway over the hum of the ship and incessant chatter of the other prisoners.

  
_“It was stocked with enough nonperishable food to sustain three hundred people for up to two years._

  
Out of the corner of her eye, a figure floated out of their seat. She stared at the boy as he let himself drift around the dropship. Someone shouted something at him, and she caught the word “ _spacewalker_ ”. Clarke didn’t have to ask to know which idiot that referred to. She’d heard rumours. The brunette boy floated over to where Clarke and Wells were strapped in, looking smug.

  
_“No one ever made it there.”_

  
“Check it out, your dad floated me after all.” The boy teased, and Clarke noticed Wells stiffen.

  
“You should strap in before the parachutes deploy.” Wells advised through gritted teeth. Clarke was still straining her ears to listen to what the Chancellor was telling them.

  
_“Mount Weather is life, you must locate those supplies immediately.”_

  
Across the dropship, two more kids decided to unstrap themselves from their seats, cackling and looking for approval as they followed the spacewalker’s lead.

  
“You two, stay put if you want to live!” Clarke called out, but to no avail. Her words fell on deaf ears. There was a buzz igniting the energy of the prisoners, which was a mix of excitement, panic, and _freedom_. They had no one to answer to now, and they certainly weren’t going to listen to Clarke, even if it got them killed.

  
“Hey,” the spacewalker hovered in front of Clarke, his arms crossed. “You're the traitor that’s been in solitary for a year.” _Traitor_. The word stung, even though she figured he meant it more like a title of honor - an accomplishment - than a dig. Of course, by law he was right. She’d known about the depleting oxygen, and the guards believed she was complicit in her father's crimes. What good had it done them, trying to warn the Ark?

Her dad had died in space, now she would die on the ground.

  
“You're the idiot who wasted a month of oxygen on an illegal spacewalk.” she fired back.

  
He faux frowned, feigning offence, but still grinning, “But it was fun. I’m Finn.”

  
Chancellor Jaha’s voice went on in the background, _“Your one responsibility is to stay alive.”_

  
The kids who’d decided to unlatch themselves were still floating around, being egged on by the other kids. The dropship felt like it was being thrown around, with Clarke’s clothes rubbing painfully hard against the straps that held her tightly in place.

  
_“Finally, I’m sure you’re wondering about those wristbands-”_ and Clarke was left panicking that they’d wonder forever, because a sudden jolt snapped her neck back as the parachute of the dropship deployed, and the TV fizzled out. Three bodies thumped down to the floor as gravity returned to normal, and sparks rained down whilst the prisoners cried out.

  
Wells looked even more panicked beside her; “the retrorockets should have fired by now.” he worried, clutching the straps that held him in place.

  
“Everything on this ship is a hundred years old right? Just give it a second.” Clarke squeezed her eyes shut as they hurtled further towards the Earth. She’d read books before about old Earth attractions and machines, one being rollercoaster’s. From their description, she’d always thought a spaceship might recreate a similar rush of adrenaline, as you hurtle towards your destination. They had looked _fun_ , if you were into thrill seeking. All Clarke felt now was fear, and sickness.

  
“Clarke, there’s something I have to tell you.” Wells shouted above the noise, “I’m sorry I got your father arrested.”

  
She couldn’t handle this; couldn't handle the imminent fear of death, and the thought of her father. “Don’t you talk about my father!” she almost screamed back, full of distress and rage.

  
“Please!” he pleaded, “I can’t die knowing that you hate me.”

  
“They didn’t arrest my father, Wells,” was she crying, or was it the pressure forcing tears from her eyes? “They _executed_ him! I _do_ hate you.”

  
This was how she died. Prolonged, stricken with sadness and grief, and incomplete. She thought longingly of Bell, and the impact her death may have on him. The death of a soulmate was not to be taken lightly. She’d heard elders on the Ark describe it as having a piece of them be ripped away, stolen from them abruptly without consent. Clarke tried to fill her thoughts with the forest from her dreams. In it, she was happy, warm, and her hand slipped like a missing puzzle piece into Bell’s. Her mother and father were there too, reunited and at peace. If she was going to die, she wanted to leave this world with that image in her mind.

  
The intense sensation of crashing came all at once, then stilled to nothing. For a moment, she thought she really had died. Upon prizing her eyes open, she noticed the dropships lights flicker, as the other kids looked around, scared and bemused.

  
One of the prisoners strapped against the wall of the dropship spoke up, “Listen. No machine hum.” he pointed out in soft awe.

  
“Whoa. That’s new.” agreed the boy next to him, with shaggy hair and ridiculous looking aviator goggles glued to his head.

  
She was _alive_.

  
Suddenly, the sound of buckles being unlocked rang throughout the ship, as they all pushed themselves unsteadily to their feet. The spacewalker, Finn, who’d gotten brave floating during the descent was crouched beside two crumpled bodies on the other side of the ship.

  
“Finn, is he breathing?” Clarke pushed her way over to him, but the bodies on the floor were motionless.

  
The hundred delinquents were a buzz of chaos and shouting. One kid called above the noise “the outer door is on the lower level, let’s go!” and they followed like moths to a flame, chanting and cheering in unison. Clarke’s eyes stayed on the body of one of the kids who’d followed Finn out of their seats. No one else seemed to be phased that two of their own had already died.

  
Clarke felt dizzy staring at them until Finn pulled her away, towards where everyone had run upon hearing that there was a way out _. A way out_. To the ground. They were on _Earth_. By some miracle, they’d actually made it, with the dropship in one piece. But what if the air was toxic? What if they opened the door to a forest on fire? The list of dangers that they could be exposing themselves to by rushing out panicked Clarke.

  
“No!” she called after them, as loud as she could, getting their attention. She descended the ladder, feeling tens of eyes on her, and a hum of whispers. “We can’t just open the doors!”

  
The crowd of kids had stopped short of the door to her relief. They appeared to be shouting at someone at the front. He was tall, with dark skin and pushed back, black hair. The stranger was taller than most of the other prisoners, and had a mature and commanding air to his persona and stance. He seemed to have controlled the hundred with a sense of direction that Clarke hadn’t managed to command during the descent to earth. Clarke didn’t recognize him as someone she’d been educated with, or as someone from around her section on the Ark.

  
“Hey, just back it up, guys.” The man barked, and Clarke felt her heart lurch in her chest. She’d frozen coming down the ladder, and everyone was still turned to face her, wondering what the panic was about. His eyes were on her too. Her hands felt glued to the metal, and ripping them away to fight through to the front of the crowd felt like she was swimming through a swamp.

  
There were no words she could muster. It was _his_ voice.

 

“The-the air could be toxic.” Clarke managed to choke out, and her voice didn’t sound like her own. She maintained eye contact with him, _hoping_ for a reaction. To see something in his eyes, like recognition. His powerful resolve flickered with confusion, his brow furrowing momentarily.

  
“If the air’s toxic, we’re all dead anyway.” he deadpanned, breaking eye contact with uncertainty. The air in the dropship may as well have been toxic for her too, because she felt a sense of suffocation. Nothing could convince her that he that wasn’t Bell. The sound of his voice electrified her, fizzing through her body. It was an undeniable sensation, and she knew he must’ve felt it too. So why wouldn’t he look at her?

  
“Bellamy?” A small voice echoed around the dropship, and his head whipped up in the direction of the sound. Pushing their way towards them was a shorter girl with hair was black as Bell’s, and the same sprinkling of freckles across her skin. A grin was etched across her face, hopeful and wide.

  
The dropship was alive again with murmurs.

  
“ _That’s the girl they hid under the floor._ ”

  
Clarke stared between the two. A girl under the floor? Her mother had told her something about that months ago, where a girl as old as sixteen - an illegal second child - had been found hidden under her mother’s floor. She’d told Clarke it was nearly a record amount of time have had her hidden, but her tone was sad and pitiful. The girl was sent to lockup, and the mother was floated. Behind, she’d left a now orphaned son.

  
“My god, look how big you are.” Bell fawned. The girl had called him “Bellamy”. It made sense that might be his full name, and she liked it. He enveloped the girl in a tight hug, and Clarke felt an ache for all the times he'd held her like that in their dreams.

  
“What the hell are you wearing? A guard’s uniform?”

  
Clarke hadn't even clocked it before, but he was dressed head to toe as a guard from the Ark. The incredulous expression written across the young girl’s face suggested that Bellamy was not usually a guard. But what would she know? He’d only ever alluded to his profession.

  
Bellamy smiled at her in a way that made Clarke feel guiltily jealous. “I borrowed it to get on the drop ship. _Someone_ has to keep an eye on you.”

She watched as they embraced again, Bellamy’s arms wrapping around the girl to hold her close. Clarke noticed suddenly that both of his wrists were bare.

  
“Where’s your wristband?” The fact that she was managing to make words come out right now shocked her. It felt like a dream. _Ha_. Their reality was more dreamlike than their actual dreams.

  
The girl from under the floors turned on her with bite. “Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in a year.” she snapped, raising a brow at Clarke. She didn't miss the way Bellamy’s eyes caught hers for just a second, before he looked away with guilt. Look at me, she wanted to scream. Helplessness washed over her.

  
_“No one has a brother.”_

_  
“That’s Octavia Blake.”_

  
The wheels in Clarke’s mind were whirring. Of course Bellamy was Octavia’s brother. It explained why his mother was floated, and why he was so reluctant to talk about his family.

  
The girl wrenched free of Bellamy’s grasp, looking like she would pounce on anyone who dared say another thing about her. Her face was contorted in anger, but Bellamy’s hands caught her before she could do something stupid. “Octavia, Octavia, no. Let’s give them something ride to remember you by.” Bellamy suggested, turning her back to face him.

  
“Yeah, like what?” she challenged, cocking her head.

  
“Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years.”

  
Clarke couldn't find the will to contest; she watched him pull the lever, opening the dropship door and allow a blinding light to flood in. Panic washed over her again as she braced herself for what was to come. Adjusting her eyes, Clarke held her breath as she waited for the Earth to reveal itself to them.

  
Before the hundred was sprawling acres of green. It was new and full of life. There was life in the trees, in the sky, and on the ground. Processing so much vibrant color startled her at first, but the sensation was strangely more familiar than she’d anticipated. The truth dawned on her slowly; it was the same forest.

  
The same trees made up the canopy. The same smell of earth and soil and musk. The same _sunlight_.

  
It was _their_ forest. From the dreams. She turned to Bellamy, hoping to gage his reaction, and found him staring out into the wilderness with a similar sort of bewilderment. And he was smiling. Clarke wanted - no, _knew_ \- she should say something, if he wasn't going to. Their months of communication, of getting to know each other so well without even seeing one another’s faces, had so unexpectedly led up to this moment. He was right in front of her. And he was so beautiful.

  
Clarke opened her mouth to say something, hoping the right words would£ come to her, when Octavia jumped off the dropship, raised her arms above her head, and let out a holler.

  
“We’re back bitches!” She screamed the battle cry that the rest of the hundred needed to charge forward onto the planet they never dreamed they’d ever reach. Clarke cringed as they flooded onto the ground, dancing and shouting and laughing, and she lost Bellamy in the midst of it all. The feeling of euphoria was contagious, but Clarke couldn’t help but feel like something was still wrong.

  
Back in the dropship, she located a map that had been stored there for them, which had gone ignored by the others. Chancellor Jaha had said their drop site was on a _mountain_. The thick foliage around them didn’t indicate anything of the like. But truthly, all she knew of the Earth she only knew from books. Grabbing the map, she decided to venture deeper into the forest, letting the cries of the delinquents grow distant and dull. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision, to wander off alone, but Clarke’s mind was begging for silence.

  
She’d never imagined that when she met her soulmate, he might not want to talk to her. Might ignore her, even. Especially when she had thought she knew him. Clarke had always seen Earth as a pipe dream, a distant hope for future generations, like her children’s children, and so forth. Now she was there, and really, she reasoned, anything was possible.

  
The map detailed the area they’d been supposed to land in. Clarke had reached a point where the land dropped off into a steep cliff, with thousands of miles of trees and hills in full view. Above them all, a rough, jagged mountain grew out of the greenery, pointed and intimidating among the landscape. Clarke frowned as she compared her what was in front of her to what was drawn on the map.

  
“Hey, Princess.” _Fuck_. She resisted the urge to curse out loud.

  
He’d snuck up on her. Either that, or she’d been too preoccupied to hear him approach. It was a strange feeling, making eye contact with the real, physical Bell. Part of her felt like she’d been doing it for months, despite the fact that this was really the first time. His eyes were studying her now with a soft sort of amusement, but she felt restless under his gaze.

  
“Bell-”

  
He held out his hand to her, “Bellamy.” He finished, as she cautiously accepted his hand. Clarke didn’t feel the same spark as she had in their dreams; instead it was an intense feeling of warmth. Their connections in dream form were electrified, like all her senses were heightened and on fire. Touching his skin now was like slipping under the covers of your bed after being cold. It was the heat you felt sitting by an open flame, or the satisfaction when you ate or drank something that warmed you up. It was strangely satisfying, and dangerously comforting. Clarke could’ve melted into his grip.

  
When he pulled away, she felt was cold.

  
“Clarke suits you.” He noted, and she figured he must’ve recognised her. Like, actually recognised her, and known her face from the Ark. But she hadn’t known his. “Princess suits you better, though.” How could he find the words to joke around? Clarke was struggling to string together a line of coherent words to convey anything close to what she was feeling. “What are you looking at?” Bellamy nodded his head towards the expanse before them.

  
“What are you _doing_ here?” She asked instead, searching for something else behind his casual and cool facade.

  
“I’m here for Octavia,” he frowned, as if it were obvious. “I mean, I’d be lying if the knowledge of you being in lockup wasn’t another factor, but-”

  
“You could die here, Bell.” _You idiot_.

 

“Really? That thought hadn’t occurred to me whilst we were hurtling through space in a tin can.”

 

“Why are you being like this?” She was feeling exasperated, when all she really wanted was comfort.

 

Bellamy scoffed, “Like what?”

 

“Like a total dick, Bell. You don’t even acknowledge me, and you-you lie to me about your family, and-”

 

He interrupted her, holding out his hand. “I never lied to you, Clarke. You have to understand why I didn’t tell you about Octavia. She’s my _sister_. I’d do anything to protect her. Especially after nearly losing her.”

 

Waves of guilt washed over her. She shouldn’t have been attacking him for something so personal, over her hurt feelings. But everything was overwhelming, too new and scary.

 

“I’m sorry.” Clarke whispered, letting the map fall to the floor as she held her head in her hands. If she could just _focus_ on her breathing for a few minutes. Maybe then she’d regain self control, and straight forward thinking. Bellamy was making it particularly hard, the way he was looking at her.

 

He made a move towards her, and without thinking or hesitating, Clarke stepped into him. His arms held her tightly against his chest, and he was so _real_. Fully fleshed out, blood pumping, with his breath on her neck. She breathed him in, locking her arms around his neck whilst he bent down for her, so that she could lace her fingers through his hair. God, his _hair_.

 

Clarke could've easily just pretended that they were back in their dreams. It would've been much easier than what was to come. Too soon, they were disturbed by a snapping of twigs from the foliage behind them. Bellamy pulled away from her abruptly, painting on his poker face as someone emerged through the bushes. She'd lost him again.

 

“Hey, guys,” it was the spacewalker. He was looking at them quizzically, “What’s going on?”

 

Clarke felt flushed. She snatched up the map she’d dropped, avoiding both of their eyes. “Do you see that peak over there?” She put on her most neutral voice.

 

Finn nodded, Bellamy was still just looking at her. “Yeah?”

 

“Mount Weather.” She pointed out. “There’s a radiation soaked forest between us and our next meal.”

 

The two guys were frowning out at the wilderness, the peak of Mount Weather being quite hard to miss.

 

“They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading I swear I read over this so many times but I’m sorry I felt there r still errors and that the ending is not so good I spent so long on this I feel so self conscious about it but WHATEVER IT’S DONE thank u love u all  
> pls validate me  
> catch me on tumblr! stacygwehn.tumblr.com


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